SheetSpeak
by Delenn
Summary: Babbling at it's greatest, shows just how scrambled even the best of transgenic minds can get when… ahem… otherwise occupied. Amazing the things your brain can focus on when you're not even half focused.


**Disclaimer: Big shock, I don't own 'em! I'm just messing around, stealin' 'em, cause I can't even rent 'em! How sad is that? So if you still feel compelled to sue, well, you have to have like **no** life!   
  
Author's Notes: This is another Max POV, dunno where it takes place, A/M ficcy. Big freaking surprise, I know, seems not only are there millions of those but I do my fair share of them. If you're not a part of the solution then you damn well better be part of the problem, and believe me, I am. So yadda, yadda, yadda, there's random thought patterns, an insane name and idea, and undertones of sex, I still think it's cool. Hehe, I'm crazy, I know. When I first thought of this it was in mind of a kind-of-way-in-the-future sequel to "Intensity" but then I decided I wanted that to stand on it's own, and I want this one to stand by itself also. However, if it makes you feel better, you can make this a sequel in your own mind, ok? But anyway, be a sport and read it, okay? And then you can rant or rave to me in e-mail. Isn't that so much better/funner? You did already click the link and everything.   
  
Summary: Babbling at it's greatest, shows just how scrambled even the best of transgenic minds can get when… ahem… otherwise occupied. Amazing the things your brain can focus on when you're not even half focused.   
  
Rated: Light R   
  
Feedback: Love it? Hate it? Go on, you'll be my best friend! See, all you have to do is click the little link! goddess_delenn@yahoo.com   
  
Date Started/Finished: August 30th, 2003**   
  


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Sheet-Speak   
By ~Delenn~

  
  
  
  
Soft, smooth, oh-so-cool against my skin, clean, sweet-scented, silk. Such a harsh contrast, I'm hot, so hot, sweaty, rough, sticky, salty, not anywhere near sweet.   
  
That doesn't stop the sheets from brushing against my skin, making me feel safe and like some sort of a divine perfected goddess. A soft caress, a gentle kiss, sweet, but hot in all the right places, skin on moist skin.   
  
Moist heat, salty goodness, ahh, ahh, silk to catch me when I fall from a lovers embrace. Between silky sheets that contain all my hopes and dreams, I'm living out some sort of fantasy.   
  
Oh but it feels so good. How can this hot/cold tenderness be so perfect, so intimate, drive me so insane, and feel so good all at once? There must be an oxymoron in there, something that doesn't fit, but it does.   
  
If this is heaven then kill me now because- oh, there are those sheets again, soaking in the heat of my back. Up, down, flip, ah-ah, repeat. Somehow, the silk is still ice to my fire, or am I just that much hotter every time I encounter them?   
  
I'm draped in obscure items, diamonds in the rough; perfection in the harshness of reality. My fantasies made into life.   
  
Flesh to sticky, sweaty, hot, so hot, flesh. Strong and hard and perfect but oh-so-tender, so gentle, so not what I expected, not what has ever happened before.   
  
So sweet, just like the silk swathed over me in a double caress of both cool and heat, hot, oh. Oh, so different, but good, first time, always first. First in mind heart bo-   
  
Did I mention that those sheets are so very cold, or I'm so hot that it just seems that way. So right but it took so long but I wasn't ready. And oh, sliding now, backwards, and how the hell are these sheets not getting tangled up or thrown off?   
  
In and out and in and breathe. Breathing is good. Ah-ah. Or maybe I don't need to breathe, not if it feels like this… Oh. Always giving silky kisses that make me hotter with their ice, and bring the world up, then crashing back down.   
  
Crash. Crash and burn, baby, between silk-sheets, this is the world. Crash up to new heights and then burn down. Now do it again. Ahh.   
  
I want a time out. Are there time out's for silk and ice and fire and hot and cold and… Ah-ah. Guess not. Flip, my turn, silk still against my back, over my head, always there. How many sheets are there? Or am I just tangled up?   
  
Up/down, in/out, breathe/don't breathe, hot/cold. Ah-ah. Repeat. And those damn sheets that are so tender and sweet and they're not the only one even if we are so hot and sweaty and dirty, filthy, ooh, but so good.   
  
Gentle, tender, flip my world up side down, and take me with it. Take me. Oh. Cold against my hot and oh… Oh, so perfect, sweet.   
  
See what I've been reduced to? Babbling sheet-speak, because wow, and oh… Repeat… 


End file.
